I'm Here for You
by heartbash
Summary: Set circa 4x12/4x13, Nathaniel tries to be productive on a Saturday at Mountaintop, only to stumble upon Rebecca dealing with a personal crisis. Ficlet for tumblr prompt (from Anon): "I'm glad you were here with me."


Saturday afternoons are the perfect time for Nathaniel to get some real work done at Mountaintop. All the employees are gone, enjoying their weekends, providing a quiet, undisturbed environment to maximize productivity. It's become a routine. He wakes up around nine o'clock, goes for a run, drinks a scalding black coffee, eats two hard-boiled eggs, and waltzes into the office refreshed and ready to check off a multitude of to-dos from his list.

It should be noted that Rebetzel's is only open on weekdays - a consequence of being located in an office park - though he convinces himself that he doesn't care about that particular detail. His Saturday work sessions, by pure coincidence, eliminate the possibility that he'll see Rebecca and, god forbid, Greg, who stops by occasionally to perform the human male equivalent of lifting his leg and marking his territory.

How juvenile. And unnecessary, considering he has been trying, really trying, to move on and leave both of them alone. She chose Greg. End of story. Apparently sleeping with your partner's dad is acceptable behavior in their relationship and good riddance to them.

Yesterday he overheard Paula say that Greg and Rebecca went to Raging Waters. The news sent him into a tailspin that knocked the wind out of his lungs. He excused himself to the restroom and spent twenty minutes trying not to hyperventilate, mentally cursing himself for letting some revolting, disease-ridden water park have so much power over his emotions. That's when he decided he needed to keep all interactions with Rebecca at surface level. No lingering. No joking around, trying to make her laugh. Only small talk. He's self-aware enough, now, to know it's all he can handle.

This particular Saturday the sun is shining, though that's not an anomaly, and he feels uncharacteristically upbeat. Caffeine rush or not, he'll take it. Another perk of Saturday sessions is the freedom to wear whatever he wants, so he decides to push the envelope with jeans and a cashmere, navy sweater. Scandalous.

He cleans out his email inbox, breezes through some legal briefs, leaving copious post-it notes with his _constructive comments_ for Tim and Sunil. Without those idiots around, he can truly focus and buckle down and the time flies by. When he finally checks his watch after several hours of continuous focus, it's already six o'clock.

Shit. He's late.

White Josh set up a double date with Vic and a woman from the gym. When White Josh showed him a photo of the statuesque, muscular woman, Nathaniel simply shrugged, noncommittal.

"Look at those triceps! She's a ten! I'm gay and even I can see that. What's your problem?" White Josh asked, incredulous, slapping him on the arm.

"I don't know. She's so blonde and tall and..."

"...not Rebecca?" White Josh finished, arching an eyebrow.

To prove him wrong, he agreed to the date on the condition that White Josh stop pestering him to "get back out there," a platitude he was starting to loathe even more than "there are other fish in the sea."

He packs up his bag and darts to the elevator, knowing he has a short window of thirty minutes to get home, change clothes, and drive to the restaurant to make it on time. The last thing he wants to see is White Josh's smug smile right now, but it would be even worse to miss the date completely and have to convince him that, yes, he swears, he is moving on from Rebecca.

As he makes his descent in the elevator, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he feels at ease in a way he only feels on Saturdays when he knows the doors will open to a silent, empty lobby.

When the doors open, however, the lobby is neither silent nor empty.

Soft sounds he instantly registers as _Rebecca_ fill the air and his eyes immediately hone in on her form, hunched over the Rebetzel's counter, her face buried in her hands. Crying.

She's in her Rebetzel's apron, as usual, but she's dressed more casually than he sees her on a typical weekday, in a baggy maroon sweater and jeans. And her hair is messy, not pulled back into a mini-pretzel bun, which is how she's been wearing it lately.

At the sound of the elevator dinging, she raises her head and promptly rubs her eyes, as startled to see him as he is to see her. She wipes her hands on her apron, straightens her back, and pretends to resume working by rolling some dough back and forth over the counter top.

Nathaniel, though not the greatest living expert on being a compassionate person, knows you don't walk past someone who's crying (especially someone you care a great deal for) without stopping. He approaches her with caution, giving her ample time to shoo him away, but she continues to focus on the task at hand, not acknowledging him.

"That one's going to be extra salty," he jokes, pointing at the dough, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.

She sniffs and stops rolling the dough, but still doesn't meet his eyes.

"Are you ok?"

Rebecca shakes her head, _no_.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her red-rimmed eyes meet his and she raises her eyebrows, surprised by the offer.

"I know you have...other people in your life to talk to, but I'm here."

She removes her apron slowly, like she moving through quicksand, and gingerly sets it down on the counter. In a voice a full octave lower than he's used to she says, "Ok. Sure," and walks out from behind the counter.

He springs into action, pulling out two chairs from one of the tables in the lobby. With an air of resignation, she takes the offered chair next to him and stares at her hands for several moments before speaking.

"Um," she says, her voice trembling, "I came here to get a head start on prep for Monday."

She pauses, swallows hard, and Nathaniel nods in encouragement for her to go on.

"And I got a call from my mother a couple hours ago. My dad died."

"What?" His mouth gapes open, taken aback by the seriousness of her admission.

"That's the first time I'm saying it outloud, I guess. Yea, it's…I'm still in shock."

"I'm so sorry."

She picks at her cuticles, avoiding his gaze, as she continues, "I thought at first maybe I could SASSY my way through this."

"Sassy?"

"It's a therapy thing," she explains away, waving her hand to fend off any further questions. "Anyway, I haven't called Greg because we got in this fight yesterday and I just...I don't know where we stand right now. Apparently getting over father-girlfriend sex takes longer than we initially anticipated. Who knew?"

Nathaniel knew, but he says nothing, unsurprised by this revelation.

"If I call Paula, she'll just tell me he's garbage and won't understand. And, the thing is, _I know_ he's garbage. He is, was, the absolute worst. I mean, you know. You witnessed his douchebaggery." She tries to force a smile at the word, but her face crumples and she squeaks out, "So why do I feel like this?"

His chest aches and his hands itch to touch her.

Tears begin to fall anew as she continues, "Despite it all, I still wanted his attention. And his approval. You know? I think maybe somewhere in my subconscious bad brain I hoped that someday I would get it. And I _hate_ that. I hate it so much."

"I understand," he whispers. "You have no idea how much I understand."

At that, she looks up at him with a vulnerability that makes a lump form in his throat. He senses she's waiting for something - for him to say something or do something specific - but he can't pinpoint what exactly. Usually he's able to read her body language, and her face, so easily, but in this moment she's inscrutable to him.

"Can you hold me a little?" she asks with a timid half-smile. "I know for a fact you give really good hugs."

"Of course." He scoots his chair so it's flush with hers and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Come here," he says and Rebecca readily leans into his embrace, burying her face in his chest, right where his heart beats wildly under his skin.

His mind wanders back to a time, during the affair, when Rebecca came to work upset after a particularly arduous session with Dr. Akopian. From what he gathered, through her sobs, as he held her in the dingy supply closet during an extended lunch break, is that her father's abandonment is the source of most, if not all, of her issues. Something about her eleventh birthday party. A boy band? The details are hazy but he knows her feelings toward her father are complicated, to say the least. (Not that he would know anything about that.) He can imagine how conflicted she must be, how difficult it will be to navigate the morass of emotions this stirs up.

"I don't want to care about him," she hiccups.

"I know," he says, unsure what else to say, and rubs her arm. "I know. It's going to be ok."

She hugs his stomach and nuzzles his sweater, sniffling a few times.

"Go ahead, it's not one of my favorites anyway," he quips and tugs her closer.

She chuckles through her tears and says, "Sorry."

"S'ok," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple then resting his nose on top of her head. The familiar smell of her conditioner comforts him, makes him sigh into her hair. "Just breathe," he says. She closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths in and out, and he matches her cadence.

When her tears eventually slow and her breathing returns to normal, she leans away from his chest to look up at him, keeping her arm loosely draped over his middle. Nathaniel cups her cheek with his free hand, wiping away the tear tracks with the pad of his thumb. "You're okay. It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head, "This isn't your problem. None of this is your problem. I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not," he whispers, staring with conviction into her tired eyes. "You'll never be a burden to me. Never."

Rebecca smiles tenderly and her eyelashes flutter, her gaze dropping down to his mouth. Before he can mentally calculate the consequences, she leans in and touches her lips to his. At first he freezes, his brain battling between the overpowering urge to lose himself in the moment, in her, and the knowledge that this could potentially set him back, big time, in his effort to move on from her.

But when she opens her mouth wider, more confident, and takes his bottom lip between hers, he gives in, all the reasons to object overwhelmed by the sensory overload of her nestled in his arms. He gently kisses her back and she sighs and drags her lips, wet and lazy, over his. All the electricity and fire he's used to from her kiss is gone and replaced with simmering warmth and softness. He muses that they've never kissed like this, as an unhurried exploration, with no urgency or end game. At least not in recent memory.

If you asked him later how long they kissed like this, slowly savoring each other, finding comfort in each other, he wouldn't have an answer. A few minutes? Fifteen? A hour? Each are equally plausible in his mind.

After this indeterminate amount of time, she's the one who breaks away. Not quite ready to let go, he wraps his hand around the base of her neck, threading his fingers through the downy hairs at her nape, and kisses her forehead. Closing her eyes, she leans in and rests her forehead against his, sealing the kiss, and says, quietly, "I probably shouldn't have done that."

"Oh," he huffs, "ok."

She pulls away and searches his eyes. "I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone about this."

He bites his lip. "Rebecca…"

"Please? I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to make things work with Greg."

He would be an idiot not to see the hypocrisy if he objected. And one night of kissing is a far cry from eight months of secret sex. "Ok, I won't. I promise."

"Thank you," she says and squeezes his hand.

He nods and stands, grabbing his messenger bag from the floor. "Again, I'm sorry about your dad. And if you need anything, like I said, you can reach out to me. Ok?"

"Ok."

Nathaniel walks toward the door and fights the urge to look back.

"Wait," she calls out, standing from her chair.

He stops, a thrill running through him, a tiny glimmer of hope blossoming that she'll ask him to stay.

"I'm glad you were here with me." She gives him a melancholy smile and then turns her back to him, returning to her place behind the counter.

As he leaves the building, his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's a series of texts from White Josh.

_Sat, Dec 15, 6:45 PM_

_Despite what people may say, being late is NOT fashionable._

_Sat, Dec 15, 6:53 PM_

_Where are you?!_

_Sat, Dec 15, 7:01 PM_

_Not cool._

_Sat, Dec 15, 7:17 PM_

_There are other fish in the sea dude._


End file.
